Twenty-Five Years Underground

My granddaughter's fourth-grade class buried a time capsule this February, to be opened in twenty-five years. Her teacher invited grandparents to come and help.

Each child brought one thing. A Pokémon card. A drawing of their family. A letter to their future self. A photo of their dog. One boy brought a single sock, and when asked why, he said, "So they know what socks were like."

The grandparents were asked to write a letter too, about what life was like when we were in fourth grade. I wrote about party lines, about walking a mile to school and about the day my family got our first television. The kids found this absolutely astonishing.

We sealed everything in a metal box and buried it under the flagpole. My granddaughter will be thirty-four when they dig it up. I'll be ninety-six. I told her I plan to be there, front row, with a shovel.